


Of Heroic Deeds and Song

by thejerseydevile



Series: Ashes and Dust [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ballads, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejerseydevile/pseuds/thejerseydevile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the battle is won, but far from over—for while the new King Under the Mountain lives, his interest in taking a Hobbit Consort is met with great disdain. Fortunately, all dwarves are secret romantics, and if there is one way to win a stubborn dwarf over, it’s with a heart-pounding tale of steadfast love and loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Heroic Deeds and Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unorigelnal (jayburding)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayburding/gifts).



> Basically my Valentine’s Day gift to a certain someone—the lovely Unorigelnal. It’s much better than our other not-so-welcome holiday tradition, I’d wager. Much love and my eternal gratitude and adoration for dealing with my ramblings, doodles and this particular plot-bunny because I just couldn’t _let it go_.
> 
> Based off of her Daemon AU, which you can find over [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/33254); I have included a helpful daemon chart in order of appearance
> 
> Angelica - Badger  
> Motsognir - Ibex  
> Rathwith - Crowned Solitary Eagle  
> Ginnar - Shrew  
> Andvari - Carpathian Shepherd Dog  
> Nyrath - Mountain Weasel  
> Aurvang - Wolverine  
> Fraeg - Mountain Goat  
> Jari - Dormouse

Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he was suddenly invited to a war counsel, of all things.

Just hours before, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Motsognir marched up to him to deliver a message, immediately fearing the _worst_ when he caught sight of her. After all, she and Dwalin were poised to stay at Thorin’s bedside as a personal guard—if Motsognir was ordered to leave her post, it must be for a great purpose. Immediately, his thoughts conjured up an image of Thorin pale and motionless, surrounded by blood stained cloth, and his proud daemon, Rathwith, trembling in his arms with longing and regret. But, the battle-scarred ibex merely butted into Bilbo’s side in a (supposedly) friendly gesture and gruffly ordered the hobbit to report at Balin’s tent after the evening meal for a very _important_ meeting to discuss strategy.

Actually, it was supposed to be a _secret_ meeting. At least that’s what Bombur claimed, while peeling potatoes at the communal kitchen that served a hodge-podge of men, elves and dwarves. Bilbo had taken to volunteering there lately, finding quiet joy in being _useful_ and in having a moment to actually interact with the Battle’s veterans and overworked healers, if only to serve them a hot meal. (He also was grateful for the kitchen-work, as it functioned as a much-needed reprieve from fretting over _his_ dwarf.)  

When he first attempted to ask Bombur about this “meeting”, the ginger-haired dwarf had blanched and glanced about quickly, making doubly sure that none of the other kitchen helpers were present (for now) before he dared speak, which only served to raise more questions than answers.

“And why must we have all this confusticated ‘secrecy’ in the first place? Isn’t everyone in good spirits now that we’ll soon be relocating to the Mountain and the Great Hall doesn’t reek _too_ much of dragon?” Angelica asked. Bilbo shot her a glance, but if there was one thing that his badger daemon learned on this mad-cap adventure, it was that asking a dwarf _directly_ was more productive than enduring unpleasantness with the Shire’s stiff upper-lip.

Bombur, for his part, heaved a shrug as he stirred the oversized soup pot.

“To tell the truth, m’not too fond of it either, these dwarves are our kin and they helped us out of that scrape very well. But Balin’s worried about _you_ two in particular, especially with the _latest_ thing you two have done to offend _some_ of Dain’s dwarves.”

“ _Offend Dain’s dwarves?_ ” Bilbo squawked indignantly. “What did we do _this_ time?”

Bombur turned to Bilbo, brows raised in surprise. His daemon, Ginnar, chattered in annoyance from her perch on his shoulder, muttering too sharply to be a mere aside to her other half: “And you, Bilbo Baggins, are supposed to be the _clever_ one out of our lot! ”

Bombur raised a hand to silence his surprisingly fierce little daemon, little Ginnar hushing up with one last irritated squeak. Then, he tapped the side of his head, as if the answer was just so _obvious_. And when Bilbo raised a hand to mimic the action, his fingers brushed gently against the new, tight braid at the side of his head, stroking down over the heavy bead, marked with the sign of the House of Durin, that held it all in place.

“Oh,” Bilbo murmured, dull realization blooming in his chest. Angelica nudged up against his side for comfort, her warm weight a nice buffer against the rising dread that followed his epiphany.

Bombur nodded sagely. “You see, we can’t keep many things secret now that you’ve been wandering around with that tell-tale bead in your hair; but don’t worry—we’ll all have it sorted out nice and neat at Balin’s tonight.”

* ~ * ~ *

Of course, nothing was necessarily sorted out “nice and neat” once Bilbo stepped into Balin’s tent for this supposedly secret meeting. Crowding about a set of lamps were eleven of Thorin’s now-famous Company, passing about ale and already bickering amongst themselves, a growing crescendo of gruff dwarven voices and various squawks, snarls, growls, and stamps of cloven hooves. In the middle of it all, hunched between Balin and Dwalin’s great bulk was one Bilbo Baggins, who felt completely out of his element as the “war talk” continued about him.

“These Iron Hills dwarves have a lot of nerve—once a dwarf makes his choice it’s _his_ choice,” Gloin grumped, waving his empty tankard for emphasis. “No disapproving looks and muttering behind whiskers can change _who_ or _what_ a dwarf chooses to love!”

“However, it’s just not done, either,” Dori argued, although he did shoot Bilbo an apologetic look after. “Sorry lad, you’re dear to us, but it _is_ true—rarely does anyone find love beyond their own race, dwarves especially.”

“But it’s _not_ unheard of! And besides, they need _our_ support, so why quibble over whether ‘tis done or not done? We’re here to _help_ keep Bilbo and Angelica from getting’ mobbed in the dark!” Andvari wuffed from her spot sprawled at Bofur’s side. The shepherd dog stood to her paws and proudly moved to settle beside Bilbo and Angelica, her loyal support clear.  Following in their kin’s fleet paws, Ginnar and Nyrath scrambled over to Angelica’s side, the ‘Ur daemons flanking the badger with determined protectiveness.

While Bilbo blanched at the thought of “getting mobbed in the dark”, Angelica raised her striped muzzle to nuzzle up affectionately into Andvari’s side with a small, pleased sound.

“Thank you, all of you,” she murmured.  “Whether they like us, or they do not we have dealt with plenty of odious relatives who are too caught up in manners to properly say they dislike you; we can deal with these dunderheaded naysayers just as well. After all, in the Shire, if there’s any objection to a match then there’s plenty of snippiness… But to threaten physical harm?”

The badger growled, suddenly growing fierce. Though other dwarves and daemons may doubt her, the Company had seen Angelica in the heat of battle and were well aware of the kind of damage those fangs of hers could wreck when threatened.

Balin raised a hand in a placating gesture, “Peace, there are no threats here—or at least not that we _know_ of—but what concerns me greatly is this new rallying of disapproval at campfires as of late...”

He sighed and continued, addressing the group of dwarves and daemons at large, “Now, Bilbo and Angelica may have done the impossible—outsmarted trolls, faced Azog, riddled with a dragon, saved us all from an early grave—but that does not change the fact that many of the Iron Hills dwarves were present for the _Incident_ at the Wall.”

The Company shared a collective wince at the memory.

“And we must remember, winter is fast approaching. Much of Laketown was destroyed in Smaug’s rampage and our own supplies will soon be stretched thin if we carry on as we have. It would behoove us to remain friends with the Iron Hills to survive while we get our bearings,” Balin continued, sketching out the harsh realities of trying to revitalize a kingdom with few ready resources. “Trade can be further facilitated by friendship and kinship—fortunately Dain is an amicable fellow who is devoted to helping us, for the moment. But, if Thorin had wanted to stress a growing _relationship_ between the Iron Hills and newly-reclaimed Erebor, it would have been prudent to remain unattached with the potential to seal trade negotiations through a marriage smoothing the process along…”

Aurvang, Balin’s fierce wolverine, raised her silver muzzle and piped up where her other half trailed of, “Although, that’s not an option now that he’s laid a very public claim with that courtship bead braided in your hair, lad.”

She stared pointedly at Bilbo, who fidgeted in his seat under her golden-eyed scrutiny. Absently he reached up to touch the braid and the bead, just as he sighed under Balin’s weighty words. Angelica for her part was unimpressed and simply muttered to herself about the ‘unnecessary complications of dwarves’.

Bilbo quietly agreed. However, if there was one thing _he_ learned on this mad-cap adventure, it was that the impossible wasn’t so far out of reach, so long as one was brave enough to try.  

“Well then, since _that_ plan’s been tossed out with the bathwater and the baby,” Bilbo grumbled, earning a soft ripple of laughter from the Company and a small smile from Balin. “What can we do now? I don’t suppose there’s any way to change their minds about me, but there _should_ be a way to combat some ill mutterings, hm?”

Oin, who had been quiet for some time (and with his horn mysteriously absent) stroked his beard before sharing a quiet word with his Fraeg. (Who confirmed whatever they were chatting about with a great shake of her white coat) Then he turned to Balin to speak, “ _Hmph_ , actually not too sure what you’re all on about, worrying yourselves sick. _I_ don’t hear many _grumblings_ beyond aches and pains and complaints about my tea-remedies, but in _my_ part of camp, there’s naught but praises sung for our little burglar.”

The old dwarf then offered a shrug, “So why not fight fire with fire, eh? If they’re going to keep on with their muttering then let’s start singing about the good our burglar can do from morning noon and night.”

Bilbo blinked, but Oin’s words worked like magic and suddenly a whole new flurry of conversation erupted like birdsong in the tent.  

“Oh, you’re _brilliant_ , Oin!” Ori exclaimed nearby, jostling poor Jari usually balanced upon his shoulder. “Absolutely brilliant— _every_ dwarf loves the story of Loni Stonebreaker and Viggo the Bold! Oh, or maybe we can make it into a ballad, sing it up at a campfire and it’ll spread like wild-fire—we’ve already got the whole lot singing about that _Merry Old Inn_!”

Then another thought struck him, and he added loud enough to be heard over the growing din, “Do you think we can work up a story about Bilbo being Thorin’s _One_?”

Nori scoffed at his little brother’s suggestion, “His _One_ —are you a still a stripeling of only twenty years? We dwarves love fiercely and rarely but a _One_ is just superstitious hogwash.”

“But you do realize that it’ll gain some sympathy at least!" Ori protested. "Dwarves are _romantics_ at heart!”

“Perhaps Nori is right and we should ease off of the ‘romance’,” Balin hummed, stroking his long white beard in thought.  “Focus instead on Bilbo’s great deeds and accomplishments. Remember, we’re here to start to rally support for our burglar—don’t want to put off Traditionalists with something _too_ soppy.”

“And besides, no one _wants_ to commemorate Thorin’s ill-advised courtship attempts in a song,” Dwalin guffawed. He had the decency to shoot Bilbo a toothy smile, and another peal of booming laughter. “Best save all that for the _books_ so they can be remembered for _generations_ to come, eh?”

They all laughed then, they passed the ale around in a circle again, and for inspiration they recounted every embarrassing moment between Thorin and Bilbo that presumably led to their shared affections. (Including a particularly horrifying incident when Thorin ordered his daemon to shower Bilbo in flower petals) Bofur pulled out his tin flute and played a few notes, working out a melody that Andvari howled along to. Together, the Company began to form a catchy little tune that could easily be accompanied by flute or plucked on strings, one that praised Bilbo and Angelica’s bravery and loyal hearts.

* ~ * ~ *

And so did the “secret meeting” slowly but surely ebb into a happier affair, although, as Bilbo marched back to his tent afterwards did he mull over that night’s events…

For while the Company did think so highly of him, while _Thorin_ thought well enough of him to offer him the promise of a life together despite all they went through, he could not help but wonder if this was truly the right thing. Idly, his fingers itched, wanting to _disappear_ , for a moment perhaps, and oh did that make him feel like the farthest thing from the stalwart little hero that the Company’s new song claimed he was.

“Are you worried?” Angelica murmured as they came to a stop outside of their tent. She rose upon her hindlegs to nudge at his hand, and he stroked the bridge of her muzzle in return.

“Not worried, no, just, well – unsure for a moment,” he answered, before he couldn’t help himself. He chuckled, suddenly wry, as he turned his gaze to his daemon with a raised brow. “You know, I never thought marriage would be so _complicated_.”     

In truth, he hadn’t contemplated the possibility of an _after_ , of what would happen beyond slaying the dragon and reclaiming Erebor with some sketchy idea to return home to the Shire some day. Understandably, having to appeal to Thorin’s people never really factored in his calculations. And if he was being entirely honest, winning Thorin’s affection and being proposed to wasn’t something he dreamed would happen, too.

Dear Angelica nodded in agreement. “Neither did I think it would be so messy, but, at least we’re not facing it all _alone_.”

Bilbo smiled softly at Angelica’s pointed words, just as he turned to duck into the tent.

“Yes, _we_ are not alone…” 

Once inside, Bilbo quietly made his way towards the lone cot situated in the middle of the spacious tent, heading towards a small chair set up at its side. Angelica padded along swiftly behind him, scrambling up onto the cot and soon situating herself in _her_ new space between the cot’s sleeping occupant and Bilbo dutifully seated at his side. From the headboard, a great eagle stirred, blinking blearily into the dim of the tent before her sharp gaze landed upon the Hobbit.

Seeing Bilbo had an immediate affect on the great eagle, who made a soft sound, beaming at the sight.

“Bilbo, Angelica…”

“Hullo, Rathwith,” Bilbo greeted, and boldly he reached out to brush a finger against her feathered crest. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, preening at the attention with a soft sound of content. Bilbo felt a surge of fondness in his chest as he greedily savored this moment, a growing warmth in his chest as he stroked through Rathwith’s feathers and reassured himself through touch that _they_ were here, they were _alive_ , they were _not_ Dust drifting out of his reach…

That surging warmth suddenly _spiked_ and Bilbo could not suppress his soft sigh, as _Thorin_ reached out to stroke his hand through Angelica’s soft fur. There was something euphoric about this touch, a warmth that spread to every corner of his body, that burned with such bright promise for a future _together_. He turned to regard his dwarf, who was now wide-awake and who met his gaze calmly.

Angelica, for her part, nuzzled up against Thorin’s side with a happy little sigh, which caused the dwarf to rumble softly with laughter.

“And hullo to you, love,” Bilbo greeted, smiling down at Thorin as the recovering king stirred to proper wakefulness.

“I take it the meeting went well if you’re rather affectionate tonight,” he murmured, now absently scratching underneath Angelica’s chin.

“It went about as well as expected,” Bilbo agreed. He moved his hand down to stroke through Thorin’s dark hair. “I don’t see why they couldn’t hold the meeting _here_ , a bit of laughter and merriment would do _you_ some good, too.”

“We would never get them to _leave_ ,” Rathwith complained. She slipped off of her perch, making a mess of the blankets with her talons as she found herself a new spot on the cot itself where she could peer up at them. Angelica immediately ambled over, the badger huffing in quiet agreement as she pressed right up to the eagle’s side. (How Bilbo wished to do the same, curled up and snug at Thorin’s side, but the cot was never meant to hold two)

“Ach, in due time I will spend my every evening and every waking minute with the whole lot ‘till the kingdom is running smoothly,” Thorin groused, reaching out to take hold of Bilbo’s free hand and drawing his attention again. Limited in the way he could reciprocate, he squeezed Bilbo’s small hand, silently marveling at how well they fit together. Bilbo squeezed back and was suddenly less interested in getting his dwarf to socialize, struck instead by how simple an action could cause his heart to swell with such _warmth_.

Ah yes, all those details and quibbles on the who, what, when and why—the growing debate of heroic deeds and song, on whether they are really each other’s “Ones” or a pair of idiots with incredibly dumb luck, whether or not the Iron Hills dwarves would _like_ him in the months and years to come, all of that errata he could happily set aside, for now.

All that mattered was the hand that grasped onto his, the brush of feather and fur, and the bright blue of Thorin’s gaze as he leaned down to steal a kiss...

* ~ * ~ *

As for the ballad that the Company worked tirelessly through the night to complete, it was a pleasantly unexpected success. Though somewhat shaky in _wording_ , the melody was catchy enough and the _feeling_ it evoked was tangible and it certainly did plenty to bolster support for one Bilbo Baggins...

_Along the road to Erebor, Thorin’s Company did meet_

_A Hobbit lad most stout of heart, who walked on hairy feet_

_From the rolling Shire hills, beyond the edge of Bree_

_They called on him for his great skills in stealth and burglary._

_Now first this Hobbit did protest, for dragon fire he feared_

_“Why risk our hides, my lads?” He cried. “When life is perfect here?”_

_But then comes a steady knockin’, upon his round green door,_

_And who should appear but the son of Thrain, the Prince of Erebor!_

_On Thorin’s shoulders did he bear fair Rathwith of the Sky,_

_At Bilbo’s side Angelica, Bravest of Badgers far and wide._

_So different and so strange they were, but familiar all the same._

_And once they met they could not bear to be separate again._

_For in that very moment, the Pair became Complete_

_For when Bilbo met his Prince’s eyes, ‘twas his One that he did see_

_So Bilbo came a-runnin’, after Thorin and his band_

_With courage and a willing heart, and steadfast loyal hand._

_Now along the road to Erebor, the Company did flee_

_From cruel mace and curved sword of Azog's cavalry_

_He harried them from the Great East Road, to Rivendell they dared_

_Up through the Misty Mountains, and into pine trees bare._

_Trapped they were at last, ‘tween fiery cliff and Orcish blade,_

_And when a rout seemed nigh, Thorin roared defiance all the same:_

_"I stand with Rathwith at my side and an oaken shield in hand."_

_Through burning fire and wicked Fate--against my kinslayer, I stand!”_

_But Orcs know no mercy, Azog the cruelest one of all_

_Our Prince met his wicked mace, and we helpless watched him fall_

_His oaken shield lay shattered, Orcrist gleaming in the blaze_

_And Rathwith trapped in Azog's grip, Thorin's daemon nearly slain!_

_Then did Azog laugh, his victory secured_

_In trapped daemon and fallen prince--broken shield and tossed sword_

_And when all hope seemed lost, the pale Orc did cry:_

_"Prepare yourself, Prince Thorin, for you will surely die!"_

_Azog calls up an Orc soldier, to do the dirty deed._

_But before the blade has fallen, brave Bilbo holds him back!_

_Swiftly does he parry, and swiftly does he strike--_

_Till at last our brave burglar steals his very life!_

_And so too does brave Angelica swiftly defend her One_

_With glittering teeth and hooked claw,_

_She scores a wound down Azog's arm,_

_Till fair Rathwith is finally freed!_

_Now up speaks brave Angelica, fangs bared like shining sword_

_With Azog's Orcs approaching, she calls out fierce and bold:_

_"Get back ye coward from my One, high back to Gundabad!"_

_"Or I'll see your arms surely matched, slashed in twain by my own jaws!"_

_Now does Thorin's Company so swiftly join the fray_

_They rally ‘round their fallen Prince and their Burglar brave_

_Till rescue comes on great Eagle wings,_

_And through the air they escape._

_Upon the Carrock did they land,_

_All fourteen hale and whole._

_And Thorin turns to their Hobbit-brave_

_And holds his One at last._

_So along the road to Erebor did two Halves become Complete_

_For a Prince did a Burglar steal, and for a Badger an Eagle fly._

_So dissimilar a pair they were, yet bound so faithfully:_

_With great courage and most willing hearts, and steadfast loyalty._


End file.
